8 April 2023
Aman
How soon was too soon?
I woke up to my phone ringing on the nightstand. Every Saturday, 8.30 a.m. Like clockwork. My weekend catch-up call with Ma.
‘Did we wake you up?’ I heard Ma’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘You say that every Saturday, Ma. And then you call me at exactly the same time the next week. Yes, of course you woke me up.’ I smiled into my pillow.
‘Okay, good. Now that you’re up, talk to me. What are your plans for the weekend?’
I sat up in bed with the phone to my ear, propped up the pillow against the headboard and leaned back.
The city, with no regard for the weekend, was already up and running.
I could faintly hear cars honking, and soft music and chatter from the terrace café next to my apartment building.
Sunlight filtered into my room through the sheer curtains Ma had so thoughtfully picked out for the French windows, the plants on the balcony soaked in the day and my mind wandered to the previous evening.
‘Ma, I met someone …’
I guess this is where I tell you a bit about my parents.
Ayesha and Anil Raina met when they were first-year postgrad students in business school in Mumbai in 1986.
Ma had just got her law degree and Papa had finished his degree in commerce and administration.
They fell in love over the first few months of spending time together as friends and project partners, and got married in their mid-twenties, right out of business school.
When Ma got through a course in London to specialize in company law, Papa went with her.
Gagan was born there that very year and when he was two years old our parents returned to Bombay and set up Raina Textiles.
They started in Papa’s elder brother’s garage and together grew the business to what it is today.
A huge, framed photograph of the first makeshift office set up around a few rugged desks and chairs, with Gagan sitting in Papa’s chair and a six-month-old me in Ma’s lap, was displayed in the lobby of our apartment.
I used to be embarrassed by that picture through my teens but had grown to be very proud of our journey.
My parents had raised Gagan and me to be what we wanted to be.
Gagan had chosen to work in London for a luxury retail brand and I had never wanted anything other than to be like Papa.
And now I was in the city all by myself while my parents grew organic vegetables in the hills for fun.
I missed living with them.
When all my friends were getting their own places I never gave the idea a second thought.
And it wasn’t like I was looking for a pad to indulge in nefarious activities—I don’t engage in any.
The occasional sneaking in of a female friend or two in the penthouse had been easy enough.
And more often than not I would wake up to my parents having breakfast with said female friends.
So you see how I never felt the need to move out.
My parents had been with me through every rough day, every heartbreak and every roadblock I had faced growing up, and slowly but surely, my parent-son relationship with them had changed to one of friendship.
And it remained the same now, even though they were not in the same city any longer.
And so, when I saw Ma’s name flashing on my phone this morning, I knew I had to tell her about Avani.
‘Hold on,’ she said.
‘Anil! Come here now!’
I smiled sleepily.
Of course she had to.
I heard Papa enter the room and come to the phone, which was probably kept on their coffee table on speaker mode.
It was an audio call, but I was pretty sure they were crouching over the phone like Gagan and I used to over our transistor when we would secretly listen to cricket commentary in our bedroom during exam week.
‘Say again, beta, what you were saying,’ Ma said encouragingly.
‘I met someone. It’s not a big deal. I’ve only—’
‘Oh, good. You finally met the guy for a quotation? Send it to me before you confirm anything. These cleaning services loot you when you give them work in bulk.’
That was my father for you.
‘Anil!’ came my mother’s stern voice. ‘Let him finish!’
‘What? What did I say? Wait, Aman, have you hired them already?’
‘Anil!’
‘That’s okay, beta. We trust your decision. If you think they—’
‘Beta, we’ll call you right back,’ Ma said, exasperated, and hung up.
I closed my eyes and chuckled to myself. I unplugged the phone from the charger and made my way to the kitchen, one floor down.
None of our home staff worked on Saturdays, so it was just my morning coffee and me. As I put a pot on to brew, my phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. I put it on loudspeaker.
‘Who is she? Have we met her before? Do we know her? Do you have a picture?’ Ma’s pitch was getting higher with every question she breathlessly posed.
I rubbed the back of my head and smiled at the phone.
‘Her name’s Avani and she works at a bookstore close by. That’s all I know about her right now. But I just wanted to tell you that I met her,’ I said.
‘Okay …’ Ma sounded unconvinced. A short pause later, she said, ‘Wear your black shirt when you go to meet her next, okay? You look very handsome in it.’
I laughed. ‘Yes, okay, Ma. I’ll do that. Got to go now. Breakfast, and then I have some errands to run. Love you. Have fun.’
‘Love you, beta. Take care,’ she sang as she hung up.
I didn’t have much planned for the day other than the one assignment that had been on my mind since the previous night. I needed to get Avani’s number, and I had to do it without looking like a complete creep.
The one great thing about being the CEO of a company was I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to look someone up.
I had inherited from my father the super-efficient Sheryl (or should I say she inherited me, since she was a hundred years young and had known me since I was a child), who could dig people out of the woodwork if need be, should I even mention I wished to talk to them.
As tempted as I was to call Sheryl, because I knew she would get me Avani’s number, e-mail and Aadhaar card number in less than fifteen minutes, I kind of liked the challenge of getting hold of it myself.
My first stop, naturally, was Instagram.
But after twenty minutes of typing and scrolling and searching, I came to the conclusion that Avani wasn’t on Instagram—not as ‘Avani’, at least.
Googling didn’t help either, because it wasn’t 2010 and, presumably, Avani didn’t have a history of crime or publicity stunts.
I thought of looking for Martin or Rhea or Maya, or even Bombay Bound, and getting through to Avani via them, but something told me that would be way too easy.
So I did what every mature man would—I sat on the couch and sulked with my espresso in hand.
What was it about my time with her last evening that made me want to question everything I’d ever felt for anyone before this?
There was something about the way she looked at me.
Like she wanted me to know what she wanted me to do, but then immediately changed her mind about it.
Like last evening, I knew for certain that she wanted me to ask her out, but she’d refused to give me her number when I’d asked for it.
I could almost see her sitting at her bookstore counter, with her head buried in a book and a smug smile on her face, occasionally glancing at the door because she knew she’d teased me enough last night to get me to come back to the only place I knew for sure she would be.
The phone rang, with Sheryl’s name flashing on the screen, interrupting my thoughts.
‘Good morning! Apologies for calling on the weekend, but I need you to come down to the office to look at some final details for our presentation on Monday. Only if you don’t have any prior commitments, of course. Or I can see what I—’
‘Good morning to you too, Sheryl. You really should breathe between sentences. You’ll find it helpful,’ I said, smiling.
‘Right. I’d not even had my chai when that witch from your marketing team called asking for your personal number. I’m telling you she’s looking to take you home to her parents.’
I laughed. ‘Preet is happily married with a kid, Sheryl. I think she just wants the presentation to go well.’
‘Men,’ sighed Sheryl, ‘so clueless … Should I schedule the meeting for 1 p.m., then? I’ll get you some home-made fish curry I’ve made for lunch. For making you work on the weekend.’
‘You’re the best, Sheryl. I’d love that,’ I said and hung up.
The office was a fifteen-minute drive away, and I usually used that time to go over my prep notes for everything I had lined up for the day.
Since today was just a quick review meeting and a lunch date with Sheryl later, I gazed out of my car window, hoping to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous face as we crossed Avani’s bookstore.
But we zoomed past the store double quick that day.
Where was the Mumbai traffic when you needed it? What business did the streets have being so empty on a Saturday morning?
The meeting went well.
Nothing much had changed from the last time we had reviewed the presentation.
But this was a big one for us and I was glad the team was looking to be extra prepared.
Sheryl won my heart again with the tastiest fish-curry-rice lunch I’d had in a while.
Ever since Ma and Papa had moved to Mussoorie, Sheryl had been feeding me home-cooked meals every other day.
She sighed and tutted every time I spoke about Ma.
The two had been friends for years, and it was possible she thought that I missed Ma’s cooking, but one of the few things she didn’t know about Ma in all their years of friendship was that the woman hadn’t cooked even once in her life, at least not for us.
So averse was she to spending time in the kitchen that she had even taken our cook Gopal and his family with her when they moved to Mussoorie.
Meeting done and lunch devoured, I found myself thinking of coffee and croissants … No, I told myself.
It’s too soon.
I was sure I was close to being labelled a creep after I had turned up at the bookstore yesterday and spent almost the entire time staring at Avani from across the room—and then of course there was my mid-sentence fiasco from last night.
Going back so soon would make me look desperate and hopeless.
But when would it be a good time to ask her out to dinner? When would it not be ‘too soon’?
12 April 2023
Avani
Did he die?
I don’t particularly like Wednesdays. They are like unnecessary stoppers jammed into the centre of the week. You can’t look forward to anything, because you already did that on Monday. You’re exhausted but somehow pat yourself on the back for getting halfway through the week. And it’s too early to celebrate because you have two more days of classes to sit through before it’s Friday evening. It’s a strange day.
So Wednesdays were strange—but this one was stranger. I had woken up feeling strange, gone to work strangely moody and sat at the billing counter thinking strange things.
Four days were a lot of days. Did I need to worry that he hadn’t turned up at the bookstore or at my home, forget spending time figuring out how to get my number and then calling me?
Had I played too hard to get? Or maybe he had faced some sort of a problem? What problems did rich people face? Maybe he had a business emergency and had to fly abroad? Maybe he had got arrested for being too hot and was being held hostage by the police in a dimly lit junkyard in nothing but his boxers? Maybe he had amnesia and was roaming the streets unaware of who he was and that he’d ever met me …?
No. No. No. Avani. No. You’re not doing this. You’re not sitting here acting like the women in those old romance novels, thinking you aren’t enough because a man (A. Man. Aman. Yes, very punny, ha ha) isn’t giving you attention.
‘Are you in love with him or something?’
Martin, as always. A champion at shattering my chain of self-affirming thoughts.
‘What?’ I snapped.
‘What’s with the mopey look? Hot-boy-steel-buns hasn’t called yet?’
‘Don’t call him that. Yuck.’
‘Like you don’t agree.’ He laughed and slapped my arm.
‘Ow. Shut up.’ I glared at him. ‘I wasn’t even thinking of him.’
I wasn’t in a Martin mood today. I got off the stool and walked to the water cooler. I don’t know why they call it that, I huffed to myself—the water is always lukewarm at best.
Martin must have picked up on my weird mood, because he followed me, and like the irritating person he is, just stood there next to me. Not looking at me. Not asking questions. Just staring at the fucking water cooler.
Seconds later, I blurted out the thought that had been eating at me. ‘Do you think he died?’
‘What the fuck?’ Martin laughed. ‘Have you lost it?’
‘He hasn’t called, or texted. Or found me on Instagram. He hasn’t even added me on LinkedIn,’ I whined.
‘You’re not on LinkedIn.’ Martin narrowed his eyes and I knew the exact moment he realized what I’d done, because his face changed from confusion to surprise in a nanosecond.
‘You made a LinkedIn profile so he could add you on it? You fucking loser! Ha ha ha ha!’
Laughing out loud at someone was so disrespectful. Honestly.
Also, it wasn’t that funny. Or was it?
‘Aaaargh. I’m pathetic. I know.’ I buried my face in my hands.
‘Aww, baby, you’re not pathetic,’ Martin half-said, half-laughed as he pulled me into a hug. ‘You’re just a li’l dorky. I’m sure he’s into that.’
This was why I loved Martin. He was annoying, but it was easy to be around him, and somehow he always knew the right things to say.
‘It’s been four full days, Martin. He clearly isn’t interested,’ I said as my face dug into his shoulder.
‘Are you interested?’ Martin leaned back and held my chin up.
‘I mean … I want to be friends …’
‘Oh fuck off. Why do you always do this?’ Martin held me by my shoulders and shook me.
‘She did what now?’
Rhea. How did that girl always manage to walk in when I was having one of my meltdowns? And I hated repeating stuff.
‘Avani is being Avani,’ Martin explained. Swinging me around by my shoulders, he walked me towards the café.
‘Brown-eyed babe cutlet hasn’t called yet?’ Rhea asked.
‘Okay, what the fuck are these nicknames?’ I said. ‘And to answer your question, no.’
‘Shocking,’ she said animatedly, ‘given you refused to give him your number. Why don’t you just call him? You have his number in the customer register.’
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t contemplated doing that. I would also be lying if I said I hadn’t opened the register and fed his number into my phone. And an even bigger lie would be declaring that I hadn’t specifically excluded him from the DND mode. Come on, I didn’t want to miss his call!
But of course I was not admitting to any of this to these two.
‘Can everyone just calm down?’ I said. ‘I’m fine, okay? I had a good time with him, but that’s that. I wanted to apologize, and I did. My life was just fine before all of this happened and it will continue to be fine without him.’
‘Without whom?’
OMG. How many times was I going to have to repeat this whole situation?
I turned to see Maya walking into the store towing a suitcase of unusual dimensions. She preferred to hand-deliver her artwork to buyers and today was delivery day for a regular client who lived near the bookstore.
‘Don’t ask.’ Rhea rolled her eyes.
‘Stud-guy-sexpot is still MIA?’ Maya asked.
‘All right. No more nicknames!’
‘That’s not even the problem,’ Martin explained cheerfully. ‘The real problem is that our friend here is running away.’
‘Avani …’ Maya took a step towards me but I cut her off mid-sentence.
‘Guys. I don’t know how this has turned into such an intense discussion. But I’m checking out. I have classes. I will see everybody tomorrow. Okay?’
I gave Martin a stern look, swung my bag over my shoulder and walked out the door. I loved my friends, but sometimes I liked to marinate in my thoughts for a while before I opened the floor for discussion.
I wasn’t particularly liking how my own heart was being a stranger to me. So, having barely taken three steps on the street outside the store, I pulled my phone out and typed: The glaciers are melting. And hit send.
There. Now, instead of worrying about why he hadn’t messaged, I could spend the rest of my day worrying about why he hadn’t replied. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Seriously, though, I just hoped he was okay.
14 APRIL 2023
Avani
Somebody make me stop.
On most days I am a reasonable, mature, level-headed woman who thinks before she acts, who is prepared for consequences, who prioritizes logic over stomach flutters.
But it had been two days since I had sent Aman that stupid message and I had still not heard back from him.
By the time I had reached uni that day, my snap decision to send Aman that message hit me on the head like Newton’s proverbial apple.
Clearly, in my brain-fogged state, a few important factors had escaped my attention.
The point of being coy and not giving my number to Aman in the first place had been to keep a safe distance and to measure effort.
Which was a great plan for assessing potential partners—except that I had ignored the fact that he hadn’t put in any effort to stay in touch with me, and had, instead, texted him first.
I wasn’t yet sure what I wanted from him.
I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but I had hinted that he should call me and had then acted crazy because he hadn’t.
After that ridiculous slow-motion walk I had done for effect that night from my apartment gate to the building, texting him first showed desperation.
Especially since he had not given me his number. I had snuck it out from the customer register, which showed effort on MY part.
The noise I made at this renewed realization must have been something between a gasp and a hyena’s mating call because everyone in class turned to look at me with curious expressions.
Right. Class. Yes, I was in class.
The professor stopped professoring, the students stopped studenting and my brain stopped braining.
‘Is everything all right, Avani?’ Mr Ghoshal asked.
‘Uhh … yes. I … uhh …’
Speak, you idiot.
‘I’m just …’
Words. Get them out.
‘Toilet.’
Toilet? What was I, two? This was getting worse.
‘You wish to use the facilities, you mean?’ Mr Ghoshal said sternly.
‘Facilities. Yes, sir. Please.’
‘Sure.’ He turned to face the presentation on the screen. A few of my classmates sniggered. I could feel Dhruv’s eyes piercing into me from across the row.
‘You okay?’ he mouthed when I looked at him.
I gave him a thumbs-up and left the room.
What’s that Olympic sport in which athletes do something that looks like a cross between walking really fast and running really slow? Yeah, you could well think I was a gold medallist in that if you saw me trying to dash from the classroom to the women’s washroom without drawing too much attention to myself.
As soon as I got into a stall, I pulled out my phone. No notifications. Not one. Not even the ones asking me if I wanted a home loan.
What was going on with me? I might not be Beauty Queen 2023, but I had nice eyes and a great butt. I loved myself and had more self-respect than to text a guy I barely even knew and then allow myself to be distracted in class by it.
I’d met men before. I’d been on dates before. I needed to get a grip.
It’s those dimples.
They are nothing great.
It’s those brown eyes.
Many people have brown eyes.
It’s the forearm vei—
Ding. My phone vibrated in my hands.
It was Rhea.
Dude. Come to the bookstore after class. Moody-eyes-man-candy just walked in!!
My heart skipped a beat, but for once my brain stepped in sternly. Okay. Here was a rare opportunity to save face. I knew I’d sounded too desperate in that text I’d sent, but now I could hold my ground by not rushing to the bookstore midway through class.
He was at the bookstore? That was fine.
If he had been too busy to get in touch for one whole week, I was too busy with classes now.
I wasn’t going to run to him the minute he showed up.
I wasn’t a girl at anyone’s beck and call.
No, sir.
Studying to be a lawyer wasn’t any less tough than running a multibillion-dollar business.
I would go back and finish my classes for the day and head home like I always did.
I didn’t have to be at the bookstore till tomorrow morning, and that’s the way it was going to stay.
If he didn’t get to see me today, too bad—that was just something he would have to live with.
‘Mr Ghoshal, sir? I don’t feel all right. May I please be excused from classes today?’
Really? You were so close, Avani.
Oh, shut up!
I stood outside the bookstore for a good five minutes trying to get my breathing back to normal and not look too excited. There had been absolutely no reason for me to run like my house was on fire once I had left the university premises.
I was sweaty, my hair was a mess and I was breathing like an asthma patient in space.
Way to make an entry, Avani.
I chugged down all the water from my sipper in one go, shoved it into my tote bag and opened the door.
There it was. Aftershave.
I took a very deep breath before walking towards the café, where Rhea and Martin were talking to Aman across the counter. I focused on the empty stool next to him and headed towards it.
‘You’re here!’ Rhea exclaimed.
‘You’re early. You never get done with classes’—Martin turned around to check the store clock—‘by 6.30 p.m. You usually get home by 9. Everything all right?’ He turned back around with an infuriatingly innocent look on his face.
‘Classes ended early today,’ I shot back. ‘Mr Ghoshal wasn’t feeling well.’
‘How come Dhruv didn’t come with you?’ It was Rhea this time. ‘We were supposed to hang out at the bookstore tonight.’
‘I don’t know, Rhea. Maybe he had a date.’
Rhea made a face and mouthed ‘low blow’. I flicked one eyebrow and took the seat next to Aman. I threw my bag on the countertop and turned to face him.
‘How have—’
‘How are yo—’
I unwittingly smiled, and gestured for him to continue.
‘How are you?’ he asked. He was smiling too.
‘I’m good. You?’
‘Good.’
‘How’s everything else?’
‘I’ve … uh …’
He was interrupted by Martin, who announced, ‘Okay, that’s enough third-degree torture.
Watching you two make small talk is the single-most boring thing I’ve witnessed today.
Ani, Aman hasn’t called you or attempted to get in touch because one of his dogs fell sick and he had to fly to Mussoorie to take care of her.
He landed earlier today and got caught up with work, but has come to see you the first chance he got.
Aman, Avani has been quite the sourpuss these past few days while she waited to hear from you.
So, please, kids … go talk, eat, fuck, do whatever you like, but stop being emotional teenagers who clearly want to know each other better but are too silly to tell each other that.’
Aman and I stared at him, our mouths open.
‘Also, while you’re at it, Aman, please ask Avani about her LinkedIn page, will you?’ He looked at me wickedly, latched his hand into Rhea’s and walked away from the coffee counter.
Both of us were too stunned to say anything for a minute or so. Then Aman broke the silence.
‘You hungry?’
‘Starving.’
Quietly, we gathered our things and hopped off our stools. Aman waited by the end of the counter for me while I turned to wave goodbye to Rhea and Martin, who were pretending to rearrange the bookshelves.
I looked at Aman as he put his phone to his ear and asked his driver to bring the car to the front of the store. How could I miss someone I’d never really been with? Why was my heart filled with such relief now that he was next to me? And why couldn’t I stop smiling?
Somebody, please, make me stop.
I waited on the kerb, making mental notes of conversation starters that could come in handy for the rest of the evening while we waited for his car to arrive.
You should ask about his dogs.
Dog. Singular. He didn’t know I’d stalked him enough to know exactly how many dogs he had (six) in his Mussoorie home, what their names were (Sheeba, Coco, Dodo, Billu, Gappu and Momo) and how long they’d been around on earth (three, four, four, two and eight years, and the youngest one four months) and what they looked like (all very cute).
‘My dog’s okay, by the way.’ He looked at me over his shoulder with a smile.
My head jerked up with almost mechanical force. My ponytail slapped me in the face and my neck made a strange crackling sound. My eyebrows threatened to flex beyond my hairline and my eyes were wide. ‘Sorry?’ I tried to sound as casual as I could. Had I thought out loud again?
‘My dog? Sheeba? Whom I had to visit in Mussoorie? Yeah, she’s fine now. She got stung by a bee in our garden and had the worst allergic reaction. She had to be rushed to the hospital, but she’s doing much better now.’ He said it like he had been rehearsing this piece in his mind for a while.
‘Oh. Good. I’m glad.’ I smiled. ‘Can I see a picture? Of Sheeba?’
‘Sure.’
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘Here.’ He held it out so I could see the picture of an adorably furry black-and-white mountain dog that looked like a bear.
I was about to comment on how cute Sheeba was and ask how he had known she’d had an allergic reaction because under all that fur I couldn’t tell her head from her tail, when a car glided to a halt in front of us. Aman stepped forward and opened the back door for me.
Good timing, I guess. That would have been a stupid thing to say.
‘Thank you.’ I smiled and slid into the seat while Aman shut the door and came around to sit next to me.
‘Ashok, Sapore Italiano jaayenge,’ he said. Then turning to me, asked, ‘I hope you like Italian food.’
‘Oh, love it,’ I responded, sounding slightly fake enthusiastic.
We must have spent a total of three minutes in the car but the silence was pounding in my ears. I could see the GPS display on the dashboard telling us that the restaurant was another thirty minutes’ drive from there. All I could hear were muffled traffic sounds, the rustling of Aman’s shirt every time he moved his palms over his thighs and the sound of my quick, nervous breaths.
If I’d known he was going to take me to dinner, I would have worn my expensive perfume. Instead, I was in my maroon kurta and jeans, with my hair in a lazy ponytail and small silver jhumkis in my ears. Thank god I’d worn my Kolhapuris instead of my regular slippers. I was contemplating touching up my lipstick before we got to the restaurant when …
‘You look pretty today,’ Aman said. A shiver went up my spine and I fisted my hands into balls. Seriously, was this man psychic? Or was I that predictable?
‘I’m a mess.’ I laughed nervously.
‘Yes, you are.’
‘Excuse me?’ I dropped my jaw for effect.
‘What?’
‘Your line is supposed to be, “No, Avani, you’re not a mess. You look perfect.’”
I sat up in my seat and turned to my right so I was facing him directly.
Calmly, he replied, ‘I thought my line was, “I could get used to this mess.”
But sure, we can do yours too.’ He leaned a little towards me and tilted his chin so he could look into my eyes as he said, ‘No, Avani, you’re not a mess. You look perfect.’
Let’s be honest. It was a mediocre line. It wasn’t poetry. It wasn’t groundbreaking. It was a semi-impressive line at best. But it was the way he said it that was anything but regular. The corners of my lips tugged at a smile and I bit down to hold back.
‘I could have done much better, no?’ He squeezed his left eye shut and sat back in his seat with a pouty face. ‘That was such a mediocre line. I swear to you, I can do much better.’ He laughed.
What on earth is this mind-reading sorcery? My armpits were getting sweaty again and my heart was beating fast. I tried to will every thought in my mind to disappear.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked and gently placed his hand on mine.
In a regular cute-boy-touches-my-hand situation, I would have turned my hand over so I could intertwine my fingers with his. In my strange freaking-out-but-blushing-but-also-wanting-to-hold-his-hand-but-worried-about-my-sweaty-palms situation, I just stared at his hand holding mine for what must have been an uncomfortable amount of time, because I was jolted out of my dumbfounded trance by Aman’s laughter.
‘Stop overthinking! I can practically hear your thoughts.’
Yeah, no shit.
‘Sorry.’ I finally breathed out. ‘I’ve just really waited to hear from you. I was …’
Okay, what exactly was I going to say just then? I wasn’t sure, but all these words were coming out and forming sentences that I wasn’t prepared for.
‘What?’ he asked softly.
‘Never mind … You’ll think I’m silly.’ I shook my head and looked out the window.
‘You should hear my thoughts if you think anything you say will sound silly to me.’
‘I …’
‘Avani?’ He leaned in again. ‘It’s okay.’
‘I was worried you had died or something,’ I blurted out.
Words, as usual, said before thinking. I regretted them the minute I heard them myself. My guardian angel must have banged her head on the wall yet again and all the gods must have collectively slapped their foreheads in disappointment.
Wow.
I was expecting Aman to either burst into a fit of laughter or judge me for being so dramatic. He did neither. Instead, he sat up in his seat, turned his body towards me, held my right hand in both his palms and brought it to his lips. Gently placing a kiss on my knuckles, he said, ‘I would have if I didn’t get to see you tonight.’
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
He can’t be real. Can he?